A Gem of a Girl

There was still only a little smoke in the ward, although the roar of the fire sounded frighteningly near. Gemma shut her mind to the sound and began the difficult task of getting Miss Bird, hopelessly crippled with arthritis, out of her bed, wrapped and tied into a blanket ready to go down the chute. The nursing aide had come back; she could hear the professor telling her to go down first so that she could catch the patients as they arrived at the bottom. The nurse gave him a scared look.

‘I’ve never done it before,’ she told him in a small scared voice.

The professor eyed her sturdy figure. ‘Then have a go,’ he said persuasively, and actually laughed. ‘I’ve thrown a mattress down. Don’t try to catch the ladies, just ease them out and get help, any help, if you can. And be quick, my dear, for the inner wall isn’t going to hold out much longer.’

Gemma glanced over her shoulder. He was right; the smoke was thickening with every moment and there was a nasty crackling sound. She left Miss Bird to be picked up by the professor and hurried to the next bed—Mrs Trump, fragile, heaven knew, but very clear in the head, which helped a lot. She saw Nurse Drew plunge down the chute out of the corner of her eye, and a minute later, Miss Bird, protesting vigorously, followed her. She was ready with Mrs Trump by now and wheeled her bed nearer the chute and then wasted a few precious seconds dragging empty beds out of the way so that they had more room.

The professor already had a patient in his arms and she was tackling the third old lady when the wall at the other end of the ward caved in with a loud rumble, an enormous amount of dust and smoke and great flames of fire. Gemma, tying her patient into her blanket, found that her hands were shaking so much that she could hardly tie the knots. The professor was going twice as fast now, getting the next old lady into her blanket; she finished what she was doing and went to the last occupied bed—Mrs Craddock, apparently unworried by the appalling situation, blissfully unable to hear the noise around her. As Gemma rolled her into the blanket she shouted cheerfully: ‘A nasty fire, Sister dear. I hope there’ll be a nice cup of tea when you’ve put it out!’

Gemma gabbled reassurances as she worried away at the knots. The flames were licking down the wall that was left at a great rate now, and she could have done with a nice cup of tea herself. She was so frightened that her mind had become a blank. All that registered was that Mrs Craddock must be got down the chute at all costs.

The professor, elbowing her on one side without ceremony tugged the webbing tight with an admirably steady hand and bent to take Mrs Craddock’s not inconsiderable weight. ‘Come along,’ he said almost roughly, adding unnecessarily: ‘Don’t hang around.’

Mrs Craddock was stoutly built as well as heavy, and it took the professor a few precious moments to get her safely into the chute and speed her on her way. They were unable to hear the reassuring shout from below when she got there because the rest of the wall caved in with a thunder of sound. It did so slowly, like slow motion, thought Gemma, stupidly gawping at it, incapable of movement. The professor shouted something at her, but his voice, powerful though it might be, had no chance against the din around them. She felt herself swung off her feet and hurled into the chute. She hit the mattress at the bottom with a thump and a dozen hands dragged her, just in time, out of the way of the professor, hard on her heels.

The next few hours were a nightmare, although it wasn’t until afterwards that Gemma thought about them, for there was too much to do; old ladies, scattered around in chairs, on mattresses, wrapped up warmly on garden seats—the fire brigade were there by now and a great many helpers who had seen the fire from the village and come helter-skelter on bikes and in cars; the butcher in his van, the milkman, Mr Bates and Mr Knott, the gentleman farmer who lived in the big house at the other end of the village. The only person Gemma didn’t see was Charlie Briggs, who really should have been there and wasn’t. She wondered about him briefly as she went round with Matron and Night Sister, carefully checking that each patient would be fit to be moved. Now and again she brushed against the professor, listened carefully when he bade her do something or other, and then lost sight of him again.

The beginnings of a May morning were showing in the sky by the time the last ambulance had been sped on its way, leaving a shambles of burnt-out wards, broken furniture and everything else in sight soaked with water. Those who had come to help began to go home again while Matron, looking quite different in slacks and a jumper, thanked each of them in turn. Presently they had all gone, leaving Gemma and Doctor Gibbons, Matron, the night staff and the professor standing in what had once been the imposing entrance, while firemen sorted over the bits and pieces, making sure that all was safe before they too left.

It was the professor who suggested that he should drive everyone to their homes; Matron had been offered temporary shelter with the rector, whose house could be seen through the trees half a mile away, the rest of them lived round and about, not too far away, excepting for one nursing aide who came from Salisbury. He sorted them out, taking those who lived close by before driving Matron down the road to the Rectory. That left Gemma and Doctor Gibbons and the girl from Salisbury; he squeezed all of them into the car, left Gemma and the doctor at the latter’s gate and drove on to the city. Gemma watched the car out of sight, yawned and started for her own garden gate.

‘They’ve slept through it all,’ said the doctor as he put out a restraining hand, ‘they’d sleep through Doomsday.’ He took her by the arm. ‘Come in with me and make me a cup of tea. It’s gone five o’clock; far too late—or too early—for bed now. Besides, there’s no hurry, you haven’t got a job to go to now.’

Gemma turned to look at him. ‘Nor have I.’ She waited while he opened the door and followed him inside; she knew the house as well as her own home; they had been friends for years now. She told him to go and sit down and went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

They had finished their tea and were sitting discussing the fire and its consequences when the professor got back. Gemma heard the car turn into the drive and went away to make more tea; probably he would be hungry too. She spooned tea into the largest pot she could find and sliced bread for toast. She didn’t hear him when he came into the kitchen, but she turned round at his quiet ‘hullo’.

‘Tea and toast?’ she invited, unaware how deplorable she looked; her slacks and sweater were filthy with smoke and stains, her face was dirty too and her hair, most of it loose from the plait by now, was sadly in need of attention.

The professor joined her at the stove, made the tea, turned the toast and then spread it lavishly with butter. He said to surprise her: ‘How nice you look.’

Gemma stared at him over the tray she was loading, her mouth a little open. ‘Me—?’ She frowned. ‘If that’s a joke, I just don’t feel equal to it.’

He took the tray from her and put it down on the table again. ‘It’s not a joke, I meant it.’ He bent and kissed the top of her tousled head and smiled at her; he didn’t look in the least tired. ‘You’re a jewel of a girl, Gemma—just like your name.’

He took the tray and led the way back to the sitting room and they drank the pot dry, saying very little. It was when they had finished and she was stacking the cups on the tray again that he said in a matter-of-fact voice: ‘And now there is no reason why you shouldn’t come back with me, is there?’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Unless you object on personal grounds?’

Gemma cast a glance at Doctor Gibbons, who had gone to sleep and would be of no help at all. She suddenly felt very sleepy herself so that her mumbled ‘No, of course I don’t’ was barely audible, but the professor heard all right and although his face remained placid there was a satisfied gleam in his eyes. His casual: ‘Oh, good,’ was uttered in tones as placid as the expression on his face, but he didn’t say more than that, merely offered to escort her to her own front door, and when they reached it, advised her to go to bed at once.

A superfluous piece of advice; Gemma tore off her clothes, washed her face in a most perfunctory manner and was asleep the moment her uncombed head touched the pillow.

CHAPTER THREE

GEMMA slept all through the sounds of a household getting up and preparing itself for the day, perhaps because everyone was so much quieter than usual, for the professor, keeping watch from his window until Cousin Maud opened the back door so that Giddy might go out, presented himself at it without loss of time, and over a cup of tea with her, recounted the night’s events. It was hard to believe, looking at him, that he had himself taken part in them, for he appeared the very epitome of casual elegance, freshly shaved and bathed, his blue eyes alert under their heavy lids. Only when she looked closely Maud could see the lines of fatigue in his face. A tough man, she decided as she went round the house cautioning her young relations to behave like mice so that Gemma might sleep on.

And sleep she did, until almost midday, to go downstairs much refreshed and eat an enormous meal while Cousin Maud plied her with hot coffee and questions. She ate the last of the wholesome cheese pudding before her, washed up, invited her cousin to come upstairs with her while she dressed, and signified her intention of cycling over to the ruins of Millbury House to see exactly what was to happen. ‘Perhaps it will close down for good,’ she wondered worriedly. ‘What do you think, Maud?’

The older woman sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Well, dear, I should think it very likely, wouldn’t you? There must have been an awful lot of damage done and it would cost a fortune to rebuild the place. Doctor Gibbons is coming in to tea if he can spare the time—perhaps he’ll know something. He telephoned this morning—he said you were marvellous. Ross said so too.’

Gemma piled her hair neatly on top of her head and started to pin it there. ‘Oh—did you see him, then?’

‘He was at the back door this morning when I went down, to tell me that you’d only just got to bed.’ She got up and strolled over to the window. ‘You know, Gemma, it might not be such a bad idea, to take that job Ross suggested. No, don’t look like that, dear—he didn’t talk about it; Doctor Gibbons told me—I imagine that he thought I already knew about it.’ There was faint reproach in her voice.

Gemma was making haste with her face. ‘I should have told you—I did mean to, but I wasn’t sure—I mean it was only to be for a week or two and although he said he could make it all right with Matron, I was a bit doubtful about her wanting me back. But now I suppose there’s nothing for me to go back to.’ She went and put an arm through her cousin’s. ‘I’ll go and find out now. Would you mind if I did go? There’s an awful lot to do here, you know.’

Cousin Maud, who had been doing it for years, agreed a little drily, ‘But it’s time Mandy and Phil helped out a little more, and you haven’t had a holiday for years—not that this job sounds much like a holiday, but at least it will be a change of scene.’

Gemma mulled over her cousin’s words as she cycled along the lanes and forgot them when she saw the charred ruins of the hospital. It really had been badly damaged; true, the Victorian extension at the back had escaped more or less intact, but it had never been used as wards for the patients; the rooms were poky and dark and there were any number of small staircases which the old ladies would never have managed. Gemma propped her bike against a tree and went round to the back and through a door which looked as though it belonged to a church but led instead to a narrow, damp passage leading to the back hall. It was here that Matron had her flat. Gemma knocked on the door and was relieved to hear Matron’s voice bidding her go in, for she remembered then, a little late in the day, that she had gone to the Rectory. But Matron was there, all right, in uniform too, looking calm and collected, just as though the hospital hadn’t been burned around her ears only a few hours earlier.

She looked up as Gemma went in and smiled at her. ‘Sister Prentice, I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve been hearing about this job you’ve been offered—at least one of my staff won’t be out of work.’

Gemma took the chair she had been waved to. ‘You mean the hospital can’t be rebuilt?’

Matron nodded. ‘I’m almost sure of it. There’s only been a preliminary survey, of course, but any idiot can see that it would need rebuilding completely—what a splendid chance for the Hospital Board, who have been wanting to close us down for months, but of course something will have to be done, the other hospitals can’t absorb our old ladies permanently. At the moment they’re distributed around the area, but a handful of them will be able to come to Vicar’s Place—a large empty house some miles away. I don’t know yet, for no one has said anything, but I hope that I shall be asked to go there as Matron until such time as larger premises can be found—probably years. I shall only need two nurses there, for it won’t take more than ten patients.’ She smiled at Gemma. ‘It will take a very long time to settle, Sister Prentice, and I doubt if I can offer you even the prospect of a job.’ She added bracingly: ‘You could get a post in London very easily, you know—your references are excellent.’

Gemma shook her head. ‘That wouldn’t do at all, Matron. This job was marvellous, it meant that I could live at home, you see—there are so many of us and it’s not fair that Cousin Maud should have to manage alone.’

Matron agreed: ‘Yes, of course. Well, shall we leave things as they are and you could come and see me when you get back.’

It was a little vague, but Gemma could see that there wasn’t much to be done at the moment. She agreed without demur and asked after her patients.

‘Scattered round half a dozen hospitals, but unharmed, I’m glad to say. Their resilience is remarkable, isn’t it? I wonder how many of them realized how near death they were—and several of them owe their lives to you and Professor Dieperink van Berhuys. We are all most grateful to you…’

Gemma went pink. ‘The professor was wonderful, but I didn’t do much, Matron.’ She got up. ‘I’m not sure if I shall go to Holland…’ She wished she hadn’t said that because Matron looked so surprised, so she added hastily: ‘I’ll let you know, shall I?’

It had been silly to say that, she admitted to herself as she went back home at her leisure, because of course she was sure; she was going. It would be a nice change from the old ladies, bless them. Besides, she was curious about the professor; she wanted to know exactly what work he did and where he lived and what his family was like. She wheeled her bike into the back garden and went indoors, frowning a little. She mustn’t get too curious; curiosity was one thing, getting too interested was another.

The professor called round that evening, giving her an affable nod as he seated himself, at the twins’ urgent request, at the kitchen table so that he might give them the benefit of his knowledge concerning the more complicated aspects of the algebra they were struggling with.

It wasn’t until he had solved the knottier of the problems that he looked up to say: ‘I’m returning to Holland in three days’ time, Gemma—will you be coming with me?’

She glanced round her. The entire family had found its way into the kitchen by now, each of them apparently absorbed in some task which simply had to be done there, although Cousin Maud was just sitting doing nothing at all, looking at her. All of them were listening so hard for her answer that she could almost hear them doing it. She said ‘yes’, and then, because it had sounded rather terse: ‘Thank you, Professor.’

‘Thank you, Gemma,’ he answered gravely, and then with an abrupt change of manner, added cheerfully: ‘How about all of us gathering round the table for this?’

They had all talked at once after that; they were a united family and each member of it considered that he or she had every right to add their say to the matter. It was the professor who made sense of and produced order out of the spate of suggestions, speculations and improbable advice which was offered. Over cups of cocoa and the total disintegration of the cake which Cousin Maud had only just taken out of the oven, it was decided that Gemma should go to Salisbury in the morning to get a visitor’s passport and replenish her wardrobe, but when she mentioned going to the bank to get some Dutch money, the professor pointed out that that would be quite unnecessary, for she would be paid a salary and he would advance any money she might need when they arrived in Holland.

‘How much are you going to pay her?’ George wanted to know, and was instantly shushed by his elders.

‘Exactly the same as she receives here,’ the professor told him. He looked across at Gemma. ‘That is if you find that an agreeable arrangement?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ She tried to sound as businesslike as he did, but instead her voice sounded a little ungracious, but he didn’t seem to notice, only smiled a little and presently got up to go.

As he sauntered to the door he turned to say carelessly over his shoulder: ‘I have business in Salisbury—I’ll give you a lift. Will nine o’clock suit you?’

As soon as he had gone, Mandy made a pot of tea and they all gathered round again. Gemma hadn’t been away for a holiday for a long time—true, this trip to Holland wasn’t exactly that, but it was abroad, and as such, an event. Her wardrobe was discussed at length by her sisters and cousin while the boys pored over an atlas, offering occasional unhelpful advice as to what she should take with her. Her sisters had more to say, though: Gemma had nice clothes, but not—they were emphatic about that—enough. Living in a small village with not much opportunity of going out, she tended to buy serviceable, even if nice, things and make them last far too long. She was quick to take Phil’s point that the professor’s family might live in the middle of a town and be most frightfully fashionable, in which case she would feel quite out of things. The matter was clinched by Mandy’s dreamy: ‘He wears the most super clothes himself, you know, and I bet they’re wildly expensive—you must have something new, Gemma darling.’